


Seldom Is Told

by Anonymous



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Butt Plugs, Cursed with Obedience, F/M, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Sex Magic, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Boromir disturbs a group of Elves, and pays dearly for it.





	Seldom Is Told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Murreleteer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murreleteer/gifts).



> _Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them._ ~ The Histories of Middle Earth

It seemed an ordinary feature of the landscape of Imladris, but the waterfall parted for Boromir as if by some elvish magic. As he entered the grotto behind, he couldn't help smiling in expectation. An arched passage led deeper into the rock, overgrown with trailing ivy and alight with flickers of fire from the chamber beyond.

Over the rush of water he could hear promising sounds, becoming clearer as he moved further inside. It would be better even than the games in the garden he had witnessed from his balcony and whose view of naked skin and entwined bodies had beckoned him - at first only to keep looking. Only as the company of Elves moved on into the cave it seemed that the last of them to vanish, a fair-haired man, crooked a finger in invitation. Boromir had wasted no time following the summons, hastening through the halls into the nightly gardens to join them. Although in the world outside autumn was ceding to winter, the sounds and temperatures of late summer lingered in Imladris, and Boromir welcomed the opportunity to take his mind off the errand and the long journey that had taken him there, or his departure alongside the Fellowship and the trials still ahead.

The voices rose, multiplying in murmurs, whispers and sighs along the passage. Boromir's step sped up; he had left the waterfall behind and stepped around a bend in the passageway to the soft sounds of the open night. The passage ended in a ring of walls and only an arched latticework roof separated the scene from the vault of a star-studded sky. A fire burned in the center of the small garden, reflecting off a pond and streams of water feeding into it, and figures were draped in various poses on soft rugs around, letting the light caress them as they kissed and fondled each other, in twos, sometimes threes, all in all perhaps eight or nine. Here and there, chests stood open, showing a repository of trinkets that left no doubts about their purpose. 

Boromir stood watching a moment, half-hidden by the entranceway and a curtain of falling flowers, before the urge to make himself known became irresistible. His cock was half-hard at the sight alone. Joining them - Boromir could not fathom the bliss. 

As he stepped out into the open, a noise of alarm sounded, and before he could make apologies for the misunderstanding - surely they ought to await him! - a grip like an iron vice on his wrists kept him from moving while thin, strong rope lashed around them. Boromir whirled, but was too stunned to even struggle when the fair-haired Elf who had called him there stepped into view from a hidden alcove by the entrance and pushed him forward into the center of the garden. 

"Unbind - !" Boromir began to object, but thought better of it. Perhaps it was part of their game. He held his tongue, with difficulty, for the sake of what else might come, breathing down the apprehension.

"I brought us a plaything," the Elf announced with a sneer that was half laughter, strangely unbecoming the handsome face. "I noticed him watching us, and surely rather than to have him skulk and gawk, this is an opportunity for the test we thought to put him to."

Another elf spoke up; her only response to the jeer was a thin, humorless grimace. 

"Now - even if he was intent on spying on us out of more than only fascination, how can we blame a mortal who falls for elvenkind? I find him fair and say that he ought to stay this night with us," she said to ripples of laughter and agreement, a woman with close-cropped black hair and a smattering of freckles over skin that had tanned a summer-gold even this far into the autumn season. She was naked, but moved without shame to retrieve a pitcher of wine and a glass from a stone table, and bent to pluck a sprig of some herb growing between the stones. Sap clung to her fingers as she crushed it in her palms and dropped into the glass before pouring, then sauntered over to first run a wet finger over Boromir's lips, leaving a faint note of herbal sweetness before she offered him the cup, giving him little choice but to drink it down or spill it, until half the cup was empty. 

The wine was cool and sweet on his tongue; it was the woman's matching smile that gave him pause. "What is in this?" he asked. "What herb? And what test?" He twisted his hands in the bonds, but the knots didn't budge, tightening whenever he increased the pressure. Boromir's fingers began to tingle, and all at odds with it, a thrum of pleasant heat began to radiate from his stomach into the rest of his body, warmth along his nerves that left him gasping, open-mouthed and dropping to his knees in confusion. Even the man's steadying hand on his shoulder was warm through the thin linen shift he wore, too warm, and to focus on the woman's answer became a chore. 

"... test for our peace of mind regarding the Fellowship that you will pass easily if you humble your pride and prove true of heart - if you cannot do this with us, then how can we entrust the fate of the world with you? The wine is only a gesture of hospitality, to make the evening more pleasant. There is nothing to fear. Imladris does not deal in poisons, unless what you are perhaps used to in your mortal realm. See." 

She set the goblet to her lips and drank, then moved around, and each of the others shared a sip from the goblet until it was drained and only the crumpled leaf at the bottom remained. She smacked her lips, now stained with the wine herself, and moved to kneel before Boromir and kiss him. In his astonishment, he found himself not only not objecting, but relishing the gesture, and melted into the sensation and taste of wine their mouths shared, and more heat flared up in him. Against the constraints of his breeches, Boromir could feel himself hardening fully and quickly, and he whined when the woman pulled away. The sound he'd made, needy and undignified, gave him pause enough for his face to heat in shame, and the Elves' laughter sounded ominous in his ears suddenly. 

"You are now beholden to our wills," the wine-bearer informed him. Boromir remembered now where he had seen her before, attending the Lady Arwen in the Hall of Fire much as she had attended the rest of them just now. "You shared as the first in the wine of companionship, and now every order we give you are bound to follow, nor will you find release before we allow you." 

"You are our toy for the night, she means to say," the fair-haired Elf lf followed. "It will fade from your memory come morning, so we will use you as we see fit, for our fill of pleasure, and if you serve us well, we shall hold your test passed." While he spoke, he unwound the cord around Boromir's wrists. "Rise," he said, and as though his body was no longer his own, Boromir climbed to his feet unsteadily. He ought to run, some instinct told him, but the impulse to follow through faded like a spark from the fire. Even if he could leave, the worst of the encounter was to have his honour put into question. Boromir swallowed his misgivings and unwillingness, and met the man's eyes. 

"Strip," the Elf ordered. 

Again Boromir thought to resist at first, but the compulsion on his mind became an overwhelming urge after only heartbeats of struggle, and his clothes fell to the stone floor until he stood naked and bare to the Elves, many of whom had approached to watch. He had never been made to feel ashamed for his physique before now. Muscles, discoloured scars from many battles - so unlike the slender, unblemished bodies before him, immaculate to the point of envy - but as the Elf beckoned again, Boromir stepped out of his breeches and planted his feet firmly against the stone floor. The wine-bearer's fingers wrapped around his cock with murmurs to herself that seemed ever so fascinated, smearing the evidence of his desire along his length until Boromir could not help thrusting forward into her hand; the deft fingers already were too much to bear. Only then his pride won out, and he could hold himself still, painfully and tensely. He would bear this night, and their treatment, but to gain pleasure from it - no. 

She pulled her hand away with a resigned look. 

"There is no use resisting. You may enjoy yourself if you surrender to it," the wine-bearer said. "But if you are struggling to not comply, then the force of it will rob you of all joy. If there is no ill or evil in your heart, you have nothing to dread." 

"I do not dread anything, but neither do I want this," Boromir responded. Surely, the pleading tone in his voice was also due to the drink, not to the sour burn of mingled anger and shame churning in his stomach. 

"That choice is yours, and yours alone," she replied. "There is no leaving this garden for the night. Now kneel on all fours. Stay so until I return." 

She turned with a dismissive hand gesture toward the floor, and again Boromir felt the pull in his limbs to obey. Some other Elf now caressed a hand through Boromir's hair and over his cheek, standing so that Boromir's head brushed his thigh. He had gentle fingers, perhaps those of a scholar, stained faintly with ink, tasting of a woman's desire when he laid them on his tongue, faint salt and sweetness that he slid them in and out of Boromir's mouth before tipping his chin up to his erection suddenly and thrusting past Boromir's lips without warning, pushing him forward with his other hand until Boromir's nose hit the man's pubes, soft, sparse and deep black against the pallor of his skin, the weight of his erection on Boromir's tongue an unwelcome intrusion. Boromir's throat worked and spit dribbled down his chin, but he could not pull away although he could hardly breathe if he did not mean to retch. 

A test. He reminded himself that it was a test, and tried to bear it. He would humble himself and prove that he was a man of honour, but more than anything, he wished for a blade in his hands. The thought held while the elf fucked his mouth relentlessly, at odds with the caresses, never even ceasing for Boromir to be more than a welcome hole to use. Boromir's muscles worked from the strain, forced to hold still, and he heaved weakly when the Elf spilled himself down his throat with an unearthly sound, a groan that was nearly music and a shiver that ran through his beautiful body. His hold did not release. 

Boromir breathed out heavily through his nose. He had not done this the first time, but he had never been used against his will, nor had anyone gripped his chin that way, forcing him to keep a softening cock in his mouth, the taste too present to force the thought aside. 

Until then he had barely noticed how near the others had come to watch, standing close around him, male hands at work on their cocks and women's fingers stroking their folds to wetness. He had barely a warning of what was next - he expected it without knowing for certain that they would take him, but the oil that dribbled down the cleft of his ass was his first sure sign that they meant to, and then the tip of a finger, petite but unyielding against the ring of muscle, massaging the oil into him. 

Pulling away forward brought him nowhere, except pushing further onto the Elf's now-flaccid cock still in his mouth. A few quick words - the wine-bearer's voice behind Boromir - finally caused him to step away and pull out. "Thank you. I need his mouth now."

The wine-bearer, stepping into view after finding Boromir adequately prepared, held up an object of clear, solid glass artfully shot with gold threads inside, three bulges arranged into a length the size of her long-fingered hand, and flared into a rosette at the end. It struck Boromir as absurdly decadent, the moment he had to look. 

"You want to warm this well, and lube it a little so I can insert it into you without too much pain. Cruelty is not part of our purpose here." Her voice was so sweet as to mock him, and more of the humiliation churning in his stomach turned to anger. She wiped a dribble of spit and semen off his chin and tutted disapprovingly. 

Boromir doubted her honesty, when the wine-bearer slid the plug into his mouth until the topmost, smallest of the beads hit the back of his palate and his throat worked against the burn of wine seeking to rise a moment before it passed - and the hope that if he brought it up, he might regain control - and his throat relaxed. The wine-bearer took her time, the outermost bead just touching Boromir's front teeth as she worked the thing in and out of his mouth, leisurely only, turning it on Boromir's tongue or thrusting into his cheek until it bulged bluntly, giving the occasional command to suck or lick it unlike the other Elf had done, watching him caress it or wrap his tongue around, then speeding up, then slowing again until Boromir was breathing raggedly through his nostrils, and she pulled it from between his closed lips with an obscene noise. 

"I think this should be sufficient. Bend and hold still." There was a touch of breathlessness in her own smug voice, and Boromir complied, weight on his lower arms and fingers splayed against the stone floor. The compulsion was heady enough to drown out his will to struggle against the sensation of the wine-bearer's fingers working him into relaxation and stretch again, and then the beads - Boromir noted with relief as the first bead forced him open that it had been slicked with more oil rather than only his own spit, but grit his teeth against the next, bigger one as it went into him, his body kept in perfect stillness, apart for the hollow breaths he sucked in and the hollow pumping of his heart, and the thoughts that chased themselves around his mind, shame most of all, and the fact that his erection would not abate, as though he desired this - even found enjoyment in it. 

The wine-bearer was not gentle - just cautious of injury - but she took pleasure in moving the plug in ways that caused Boromir to groan, before she finally abandoned the play and slid the biggest bead and flared end into place. 

"You may rise," she informed him. It seemed the command - the way it had been phrased - allowed a certain leeway. There was no need to act on the compulsion at once, and Boromir breathed through the sensation of feeling impossibly stretched, the constant pressure against his insides a reminder - a first taste - of the things in store for him. He kept as he was, kneeling a moment longer - too long. 

Another of the male Elves spilled himself, half over Boromir's face, great spurts that clung to his hair and slid over his cheek, while another yet landed a slap on Boromir's ass that jostled the thing inside him and sent a fresh jolt of sensations stabbing into him. 

Boromir held back a groan, spat and wiped at his face, smearing more than he managed to remove. There was laughter, from the man and his companions. "He seems less than appreciative of your gift; what a shame," said one who knelt and licked a long stripe along Boromir's cheekbone. "I cannot say why." 

Boromir's fingers clenched into a crack in the stone, and it was becoming harder to think straight through the haze of wild anger, harder to obey when yet another woman's voice chimed in. "Let me through. His mouth looks so pretty in use, look at those flushed lips…" she knelt before him, fox-faced and russet-haired and smiling to reveal a leather strap with a silver thing in its center, a ring and finely-shaped claws like naked branches that would look less out of place in a torture chamber of the Dark Lord than in Imladris. Perhaps the woman saw the unwillingness in his eyes, because she said "No? Remember, Boromir, there is no choice here for you tonight. Test or none, you deserve this for interrupting our gathering tonight if nothing else. Open your mouth." 

Against the impulse to obey, Boromir shook his head, and met hardening grey eyes that made it harder to not obey, but he drew hope from the momentary success in resistance. Even as Fox-Face's empty hand ran down along the column of his throat, light at first and lingering, followed by a nuzzling kiss, a gentle bite. The intimacy of it all was perhaps worse than anything yet - until her fingers crooked and tightened on his windpipe, holding, holding, holding until his vision swam at the edges and Boromir's mouth opened in a gasp, wide enough for her to force the metal contraption behind his teeth and fasten the leather strap, catching some of his hair in it. 

Even over the rush of air returning and the bliss of it filling his lungs, Boromir could not close his mouth, couldn't speak, could hardly swallow. Drool pooled on his tongue and ran stickily down his chin, mingling with the fluids already on him. He hung his head, suddenly exhausted and tired of his resistance. 

Fox-face stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You are to leave it there, unless you would have us bind you again," she snapped, and Boromir's wrists, which had gone to the leather strap's buckle to loosen it, froze. Someone pulled his wrists down until he was kneeling on all fours again. Fox-face seemed content, leaving the scene to rummage in one of the chests. He had no doubt she would return for more torture.

He barely registered when another Elf - he did not think to even look into his face - tipped his head up and slid his cock into Boromir's open mouth, barely cared for the wet noises as he thrust in and out, barely reacted when a familiar hand slapped down on his ass and began to play with the plug in him - the fair-haired Elf who'd lured him there in the first place, a cursory glance revealed. The toy slipped free of Boromir when he pulled, one bead after the other widening him to a burn before it came out, only to be laid aside and replaced with the man's considerable girth forcing into Boromir, not quite so much that he thought to split apart, but grit his teeth against the metal ring in his mouth. 

The two of them soon worked him into a rhythm that pushed and pulled Boromir first onto one cock then the other, and the fair-haired Elf slid steadily deeper until each thrust sent his testicles slapping against Boromir's ass, at an angle that made him jerk and groan each time the man hit his prostate, and seemed to take delight in the reactions it provoked, then hands on his hips holding him still finally as he found relief and came deep in Boromir almost at the same time the other man spilled himself into Boromir's mouth and the salt of it made him retch miserably. 

His cock throbbed, regardless, now to the point of aching, and when the fair-haire Elf withdrew, Boromir felt no relief at the absence of stimulation. Next came Fox-Face, again. She wore a harness now, leather straps cinched around her hips and thighs, and a cock of pale, smoothed wood that looked so lifelike as to be almost strange and uncanny. She slid it into his soiled mouth after the other man had pulled out and stepped aside, but seemed content with only a few thrusts before sitting on one of the mats with her legs folded under her and a smile that heralded only more misery. The wood gleamed with the wetness from Boromir's mouth.

"Come to me, Boromir," she called sweetly, but there was force behind her words that sent Boromir's exhausted limbs moving. "Sit on me."

He approached Fox-Face resentfully. His legs felt heavy, his palms sore where they had chafed against the rock floor. Had he been able to speak, he thought he'd find that language had abandoned him. He throbbed body-over, and the corners of his mouth, stretched wide by the strange gag, were slowly progressing from painful to numb. Most of all, though, he ached - empty, used, stretched, needy… it left little strength for resistance, the same tiredness that came with a battle when the elation had worn away and effort caught up with a warrior.

He sat by Fox-Face with his head lowered, spittle running over him - chest, dripping onto his legs, his cock, while she was stroking along her wooden cock in an absurd imitation of a man pleasuring himself, positioned himself, aware of the breathless stillness of his tormentor, and the other Elves still watching as the woman guided her cock into him past his ring of muscle, and with her hands on his shoulders pushed him down swiftly, jerking her hips up at the same time. 

Boromir shouted, open-mouthed, part pain, part rush, part alarm. Fox-face laughed and kissed his open mouth as she held him down. "I know you want to move, my sweet, but where would we be if I had nothing of it? Don't move yet," she whispered with a brush of lips against his ear that made Boromir shiver with apprehension and the sensation of her hot breath that ran like a shock through every nerve of his body. "I'll take this beastly gag off you." 

She made good on her promise. At short notice the sodden leather landed in some corner of the garden with a dull clang; Boromir moved his mouth experimentally and closed it in relief, against the twinge of sore skin. 

The hand through his hair pushed his head down toward Fox-Face's breasts, small and pert with pink, pebbled nipples. "Suck," she said. "Once you make me come from this, I will let you off." 

Boromir had little experience with women - enough to know they were not his favourite partners - enough to know that they could serve for his relief, by far not so much that he ever thought to marry, or learn the finer points of their desires. But he obeyed, rolling Fox-Face's nipples between his fingers until she gasped and arched, pushing into Boromir as she moved, and when he put his lips and teeth to to use, thoughtlessly and wishing only for her to be done, she proved, at least, quickly satisfied and came bucking into him erratically and her hands jerking on his cock until Boromir whimpered and she laughed breathlessly. 

"No more," he brought forth. "Have I not done enough to prove myself?" 

Hands pulled him off Fox-Face's cock and to his feet. He stumbled as he walked between the last of the men who hadn't had him, toward a rock wall and four manacles on short chains that were fastened there. Boromir closed his eyes and let them chain him on wrists and ankles, straining his shoulders and spreading his legs wide, resting his head forward against the cool rock face as a tongue ran over his ass cheek, into his cleft and soothed over his hole. It felt almost good; any revulsion he might have voiced before gave way to pure sensation, and that had him bucking back against the other almost in despair to find release. 

"That is what I meant," the wine-bearer's voice sounded by his ear, soft and approving. "Surrender to it, and even you will enjoy this." She was carrying a wet cloth scented with some herbal soap that she ran over his face and chest, cleaning away some evidence of their abuse. "And once you have borne this and we are all satisfied, I will see that you are released from your plight."

Boromir only nodded, moaning low in disappointment as the mouth left him and was replaced by the blunt head of a cock pushing into him. At least this one, he thought while the wine-bearer continued to clean him, was gentle and careful as he took his pleasure, and the last of them, as they exchanged places, only a little less so. 

As promised, the locks fell open after that, after the wine-bearer passed her hand over them with a low hum. All Boromir could do was to not fall into a bonelessly exhausted heap, but he followed her to one of the bedsteads on the floor and laid down as she beckoned, swift hands already at work on his cock as she lay pressed against his back. Boromir thrust into her hand, feeling the building of his release after only a few touches, although she had not yet given the order. 

"Come, Boromir. You have proven your loyalty and humility past anyone's expectations. Have your reward." It took only another stroke until he came. 

Boromir still ached when he returned to his senses, but as though a veil had been lifted from his mind, his thoughts were clear again. His ordeal stood out starkly in the forefront of his mind, but he could think again, as though some of the magic had gone out of him. Perhaps it had. For the most part, he felt sore, full, and a bone-deep weariness. The wine-bearer's arms were around him still, although enough time had passed that she seemed to doze with the air of a contented cat, and many of the others did the same. Boromir spotted Fox-Face curled in the arms of the fair-haired Elf, the scholar and another man sitting and speaking together, and yet another woman whom he had barely noticed earlier except as a face in the crowd - perhaps she took little interest in their play - slept half tangled with the wine-bearer.

If he left, he risked the chance of waking them all - the dread that they would not let him go, that he would be used over again. The thought alone sent cold dread through him. 

His muscles shook, but Boromir held still. Sleep would come for him, if it was kind, and by morning, if the Elves kept their word, he might have forgotten.


End file.
